Ian's Blog

  Helen Andrews’ discussion on the great feminization is unsettling not because it is provocative, but because it is precise. It forces listeners to confront a demographic and cultural shift so vast that we have normalized it before understanding it. Her argument is not that women are incapable, malicious, or unworthy of leadership. Rather, it is that no civilization can radically alter the demographic makeup of its institutions without also altering their values, incentives, and operating logic. Feminization, as she frames it, is not a conspiracy, it is a process. And like all processes, it produces predictable outcomes. At the heart of Andrews’ thesis is a simple but powerful observation: feminization is unprecedented in scale. Human history contains powerful women, female rulers, and even matriarchal tendencies, but never before have women occupied such a large share of political, legal, academic, and managerial authority simultaneously. One-third female legislatures, majority-f...

There is an idea called standing too close to the elephant. When you stand right next to an elephant, all you see is a trunk, a leg, maybe a patch of skin. You cannot grasp its size, its shape, or its meaning. Only when you step back, when time passes, when distance grows can you see the whole animal. Some stories demand that kind of distance. The story of Emmett Till is one of them. Let me give you a history lesson. Early 1950s. United States of America. A fourteen-year-old Black boy named Emmett Till travels from Chicago to Mississippi to visit family. Before he leaves, his mother gives him a warning that says everything about the country at the time: if a white man looks at you, look away. Don’t answer back. Don’t linger. Don’t be bold. Survival depended on submission. But Emmett is from Chicago. He’s not used to Mississippi’s rules. He’s not scared in the way Southern racism required Black children to be scared. One day, he walks into a store. There’s a white woman behind the count...

I recently listened to a man speak about submission in his 28-year-old marriage, and instead of answering questions, his words provoked many more. Not the defensive kind of questions, but the honest, uncomfortable, necessary ones. Should a husband expect submission automatically from his wife? Are there requirements a man must meet for his wife to submit to him? And perhaps the most rarely asked question of all: is there such a thing as a man submitting to his wife? These questions matter because submission is one of the most misunderstood and emotionally loaded words in relationships. It has been preached, weaponized, romanticized, and rejected, often without careful thought. Many people hear the word and immediately imagine loss of agency, silence, or inequality. Others hear it and assume authority, entitlement, and obedience. Somewhere between these extremes lies a deeper, more honest understanding. Here was the man’s take: He said he dies a slow death every time he hears women say ...

  There’s a simple idea that sounds almost too obvious to be powerful, yet it quietly sits at the root of many emotional, mental, and even physical struggles people carry into adulthood: forgiveness. Not the fluffy, feel-good kind that ignores pain, but the hard, deliberate kind that restores your peace of mind. According to this framework, there are four people you must forgive if you want to live free and it starts closer to home than most of us are comfortable admitting. The first person you must forgive is your parents. Forgive your parents for everything they’ve ever done that hurt you. This isn’t an accusation; it’s an observation backed by years of research and human experience. Most studies, and most honest conversations, reveal that a large percentage of adult problems trace back to being unwilling or unable to forgive our parents for something they did or failed to do. It might have been neglect, harsh words, absence, unrealistic expectations, or wounds they never knew th...

  Ever wondered why a simple conversation can feel like a cross-cultural exchange? Welcome to the tale of two brains. Let’s talk about one of life’s greatest mysteries: how men and women can live in the same house, love each other deeply, and still feel like they’re from completely different planets. The answer, according to this tale, lives upstairs—in the brain. Not in a scientific, peer‑reviewed, white‑lab‑coat way, but in a painfully accurate, laugh‑because-it’s-true way. A man’s brain is best understood as a collection of little boxes. Neat. Organized. Clearly labeled. There’s a box for the car, a box for money, a box for work, a box for the kids, and somewhere a box labeled “your mother.” The key feature here is that the boxes do not touch. Ever. When a man opens one box, that is the only box that exists. The rest of the brain politely minds its business. This is why a man can sit quietly, staring at nothing in particular, and be perfectly content. He has opened the legendary...

  I know Comedian Tim Minchin and I recently came across his address to University of Western Australia graduates. I think he was onto something with his nine pointers of living.  1. You don’t have to have a dream  You don’t need a grand life dream to justify your life. If you have one, great. But chasing a single long-term dream can make you miss the interesting opportunities right in front of you. Be micro-ambitious — work with pride on what’s immediately ahead of you and you’ll be surprised where it leads.  2. Don’t seek happiness   Happiness is like an orgasm — the more you obsess about it, the more it slips away. Humans evolved not to be constantly content. Aim to do worthwhile things and make others happy; happiness will follow as a side effect.  3. Remember, it’s all luck   You are extraordinarily lucky just to be alive and here — born into circumstances that gave you access to this moment. Success isn’t all because of your effort; luc...

  Imagine walking into a room and instantly commanding attention—not because of what you wear, how you look, or what you say but because of the love and support you carry with you. This is the radical, transformative idea that Maya Angelou offered on self-love. In one memorable reflection, she said, “There’s an African saying: Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt. I mean, if he had something, he'd cover himself first, right?” The point is simple but profound: genuine self-love comes from within. It is a recognition of one’s own worth, independent of external validation, and an acknowledgment of the people who have shaped and supported you. Angelou went further, offering a striking metaphor for carrying that love into the world. She suggested that when entering any space—an office, an interview, or any situation where one seeks recognition or influence, one should “bring your people with you.” She described it vividly: “Say, ‘Grandma, come on, let’s go.’ Great-grandpa’s...

  I’ve learned, slowly and sometimes painfully, that the hardest prayer is not asking for success, health, or clarity in others—but asking for the humility to see yourself. Whatever you do, pray for the ability to see your own sins, your own hypocrisy, and your own shortcomings. It sounds simple, even pious, but it is anything but. To truly see yourself is to confront the parts of you that you hide, that you excuse, and that you try to ignore. It is a confrontation most people avoid, because it hurts, because it challenges pride, and because it forces honesty in a world that rewards performance over truth. Pointing fingers is easy. It is satisfying. It makes us feel superior, moral, in the right. But it is dangerous. The moment you spend more energy judging someone else than inspecting your own life, you risk building a house of illusions. You think yourself upright, virtuous, justified—but underneath, the cracks are widening. We all have abscesses that need tending. We all carry h...

  In a recent discussion, Jensen Huang, the CEO of Nvidia, offered a profound reflection on the nature of youth in the modern era. When asked whether he would rather relive his 20s or be 20 years old today, his answer was unexpected yet deeply revealing: “I thought our 20s were happier than these 20s. I think everyone deserves some time to be oblivious, and not wear all of the world's problems on their shoulders on Day 1.” These words strike at the heart of a generational tension: the collision between awareness, responsibility, and the psychological toll of early exposure to the world’s complexities. Huang’s reflection is not merely nostalgic. It points to a structural reality about the conditions under which young people today mature. Unlike previous generations, today’s youth are confronted with a continuous flood of information, much of it negative, sensationalized, or catastrophic. Climate change, political unrest, economic uncertainty, and the ubiquity of social media amplify...

  I was reading about  a man's story, for years, he and his partner lived what he later described as life on “cheat mode.” No kids. No dependents. Plenty of freedom. Decisions were reversible. Risks were mostly personal. If something went wrong, the consequences were contained. Life felt light, efficient, manageable—like playing a video game with infinite retries. Then he had children. And suddenly, the game changed. “You don’t have skin in the game until you have kids,” he explained, not as a slogan, but as a realization that comes with weight. Parenthood is like a medical procedure where your heart now lives outside your body. It walks around without your protection, sleeps in another room, gets on school buses, and depends on a world you cannot fully control. Before children, the fear of death was abstract, existential, and perhaps philosophical. After children, death becomes personal—not because of what you lose, but because of who you would leave behind. Life without ch...

  There is an uncomfortable truth many people prefer not to say out loud: a significant number of what we label as “mental health issues” become quieter, lighter, or more manageable when bills are paid, rent is secure, and the fridge is full. This is not a dismissal of mental illness, trauma, or neurochemical conditions. It is a challenge to the dishonest separation we often make between mental health and material reality. Peace, stability, and emotional safety are not abstract concepts. They are deeply economic. And pretending otherwise is not wisdom , it is privilege. In many conversations, mental health is framed as an internal battle, something that exists entirely in the mind, detached from external conditions. We are told to meditate, journal, pray harder, think positively, or seek therapy, all of which can be genuinely helpful. But what is often ignored is how difficult it is to “heal” when your life is structurally hostile. Anxiety does not exist in a vacuum when rent is du...

  Nairobi has reached a quiet but undeniable consensus: the era of lawless matatus must come to an end. For decades, public transport in the capital has operated in a grey zone—half essential service, half organized chaos. While matatus have played a critical role in moving millions of people daily, the cost of tolerating disorder, recklessness, and impunity has grown too high. Order and civility in public transport are no longer optional aspirations; they are necessary conditions for a functional city. Matatu chaos is often defended as “culture” or “hustle,” but this framing has outlived its usefulness. Speeding, overlapping, blasting music at extreme volumes, intimidation of passengers, bribery of traffic police, and open disregard for traffic rules are not cultural expressions—they are failures of regulation and enforcement. A city cannot modernize while normalizing danger as entertainment and indiscipline as identity. Nairobi’s roads are not a theatre for adrenaline; they are p...

The question Kenyans should be asking is not radical, ideological, or unrealistic. It is profoundly practical: if powerful states can seize illicitly held wealth and redirect it toward public purpose, why can’t we? When the United Kingdom moved to freeze and force the sale of assets linked to a Russian oligarch, including Chelsea Football Club, and signaled that the proceeds would be redirected toward supporting Ukraine’s defense and reconstruction, it demonstrated something Kenya has long pretended is impossible, real accountability with material consequences. Not speeches. Not task forces. Not promises. Consequences. Kenya is not short of money. It is short of political will. For decades, the country has hemorrhaged public resources through corruption, inflated procurement, opaque public-private partnerships, dubious infrastructure contracts, and outright theft. Every Kenyan knows the names of scandals—Goldenberg, Anglo Leasing, NYS, Arror and Kimwarer dams, COVID-19 procurement frau...

  This year, I am not interested in comfort, consensus, or applause. I am interested in truth, accountability, and asking the questions we are trained to avoid. This blog exists to interrogate power, expose convenient lies, and challenge the stories we tell ourselves to survive broken systems. Some ideas here will unsettle you. Others may anger you. That is intentional. Growth does not come from silence or softness—it comes from clarity. If we are serious about justice, dignity, and the future we claim to want, then we must first be honest about the present we are tolerating.

  The people supporting William Ruto and his government are not defending ideas or principles. They are defending access . Access to tenders, appointments, protection, shortcuts, and survival within a collapsing system. They are not trying to fix Kenya; they are trying to extract from it before it burns . This is not politics, it is a hustle. It's a hustler's government after all, right? Those opposing this regime are not perfect, but they are fighting for something fundamentally different: history over handouts, principle over proximity, constitution over convenience . And that difference matters. If you support punitive taxes that crush workers, small businesses, and the unemployed while insulating political elites, then understand this clearly: you are not “pragmatic,” you are complicit. When fuel taxes rise, food prices spike, and PAYE workers are squeezed dry to service loans they never benefited from, silence becomes endorsement. Poverty is not accidental, it is policy. A...

  You walk into the Teachers Service Commission (TSC) offices to follow up on a pension matter, entering what feels like an administrative underworld where years of service fade into paperwork limbo. The Commission operates under the TSC Act 2015 , and there are references to a 2024 amendment — but what is painfully clear to anyone who has walked these corridors is this: we lost Mzee before he ever received his pension. And he is not an exception. He is the pattern. Across Kenya, teachers who have spent decades shaping young minds die waiting for what was legally due to them. Some spend ten to fifteen years chasing their pension , enduring disappearing files, stalled processes, and endless administrative circles. Time passes. People age. Some simply do not make it. What should be a dignified transition into post‑service life becomes a waiting room for death . This is not mere inefficiency. It is cruelty clothed in bureaucracy. For the small minority who receive their pensions with...

  Look at Kenya today, and one cannot help but ask: what exactly is our tradition? What is our rich heritage as a people? For a country so culturally diverse, with over forty distinct ethnic communities, the answers often feel surprisingly thin, fragmented, or borrowed. This absence of clarity did not happen by accident. It is a direct consequence of how colonialism was imposed on Kenya—a deliberate restructuring of society that left deep scars on identity, governance, and cultural continuity. Unlike other African territories where the British practiced indirect rule—such as Uganda, Nigeria, and parts of Ghana—Kenya was subjected to direct rule. In indirect rule systems, colonial administrators relied on existing local governance structures: kings, chiefs, councils, and councils of elders. These structures, while subordinated to the colonial state, were allowed to persist and evolve, creating hybrid systems where indigenous practices could coexist with imposed colonial rules. In K...